Touch Me
by NothingButBlueSkies
Summary: An unintentional encounter in the darkness and a momentary touch are all it takes for darkness and light to begin to overlap and for lines to blur. Will Draco and Hermione find a solution to the old magic they've unlocked before it's too late? DM/HG :
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer : Until I find a way to wipe the entire world's memory clean and take credit for everything JKR wrote, Harry isn't mine.

Note: I started writing this about two years ago under the title "Skies Are Grey." I stopped because I didn't have enough time to do it justice (I'm a semi-perfectionist). But now I have scads of extra time, and a rekindled desire to finish this the way it should have been. I'm really quite excited about it. Basically, the premise is that the entire ending of HBP didn't happen—Dumbledore didn't die, Snape didn't fake over to the Dark Side... you get the idea. My ultimate goal is that nothing in this story goes against the true nature of the characters, Draco's not going to turn into a fluffy little lovesick puppy, etc. (I think you understand that I have fairly strong opinions on out-of-character characters... haha.) Corrections, suggestions, and commentary are all welcome, as long as they are kept clean. Thanks dears! :)

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**Chapter One**

Every morning started just the same. A cold sweat and nothing but the few relentless notes of a sadistic circus performance ringing in his ears… and yet there was comfort in his sick slumbers. Six years of nights—2,191 of them, to be completely exact—and every night just the same since that first fateful evening at Hogwarts. It was not always the same bodies twisting in the same abnormal contortions, but it was always the same song … restful but dark, smooth but sad, exhilarating… but completely terrifying. Always the same voices, lamenting, as if to cry out and reach him from the darkness… Not that he was completely certain of this. The voices did not speak any language with which he was familiar—and that was no small fact: Draco Malfoy was more than fluent in several foreign tongues, and had a passable vocabulary in many more, a skill that had served him well in his many travels around the globe and with a variety of creatures.

He recalled with ease the night that started it all—eleven years old and never surer of anything in his life than he was as the Sorting Hat screamed "Slytherin!" at the merest touch of its frayed edges against his platinum blond hair. He was on top of the world—sure, he was young, but Hogwarts held no unfamiliarity for him: his father, Lucius, had been on the Governing Board of Hogwarts, and Draco had visited the school often. Beyond that, his family connections allowed him access to friendships with older students who were more than willing to show him the ropes. He could do no wrong—and even if he did, he was certain that his father would spare him the consequences of any fun he might wish to have while at Hogwarts. All through the first evening's feast, he felt utterly indestructible… and then came the night. The cruel, hard, cold night…

And Draco Malfoy couldn't escape the sickening faceless people as their boneless bodies stretched past him. Nor could he free himself from the terrorizing music that seemed to force his heart to beat unnaturally against his ribcage. That was the first morning that Draco woke up with a heart full of gratitude for the sunshine. But the night always came again, bringing its horde of horrors and its melody of madness. Even for him it was difficult to summon the immense shroud of fright that came over him before the dream came again. He tried as many remedies as he could lay his hands on, and tried to stay awake through the night many times, just to hide from it… but Sleep will always take claim on its prey, and Draco had no way to evade Its clutches. Soon enough, the dreams became routine, and Draco was able to ignore their presence—until his sixth year at Hogwarts.

His dreams did not seem content to let him be a mere spectator any longer, and he became mannequin to their sick desires. As far as he could tell, he did not actually move while sleeping, but the dreams were like the Cruciatus Curse—he was bent and twisted and driven to his wits' end, waking, each morning, feeling as though he had not slept at all, and in more pain than he had ever been forced to succumb to in his life. He fought it with every ounce of resistance in his body, and paid sorely for it when the sun finally dared show its face. Some mornings he awoke wondering if perhaps light and time were also playing slave to his dreams—each night seemed to drag on longer than the previous. And then one night, he gave in, and gave up. As the Dark Lord began to exercise his power, Draco could not fight against the living nightmare, let alone the demons that haunted his dreams. He no longer felt the childish fear he once had for the darkness, but he now dreaded the pain and the resounding anguish that each step would bear, following another night as a participant in the sadistic dance of his dreams. It could not have gotten worse… and then, he failed.

The Dark Lord is not kind to those who do not fulfill his demands. And the sick pain of dreaming became a safe haven from real life. His darkest fear and greatest suffering became his deepest place of solace. But at the same time, though he tried to pretend that it wasn't happening, Draco was slowly deteriorating.

Now, as he made his evening rounds of the castle looking for stray first years to hassle and send to bed on their first night at Hogwarts, he remembered. Even as he walked, he could feel his body craving sleep—eyes willing themselves to close, muscles caving beneath him, heart and soul begging to be freed from the day's general unpleasantness… But still he fought it, trying to make it at least to the common room before Slumber could take him in arms and allow him to pretend that daytime didn't exist. Distantly down the hall, he could see the light of another prefect's wand. Maybe he could coerce them into taking the rest of his rounds, so he could take a shortcut to the dungeons… But Draco had pushed the limits of the physical too far, and he swayed on the spot.

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Please let me know what you think :)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I have taken JKR hostage, adopted her habits, and taken over her house and wardrobe, Barty Crouch Jr. style. I own Harry Potter!! ... Just kidding. I would never do that... or wouldn't I? ;)

Note: This chapter is a little information heavy. No romance yet :( But it's necessary to the plot, so hopefully you don't mind. Please read, review, and, most importantly, ENJOY!!! :)

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**Chapter Two**

Hermione was thrilled to be back at Hogwarts. It was late, and though, truth be told, she'd rather have been in her bed with the curtains drawn and a book in her hands, she didn't mind making rounds, and reliving the memories that had taken place over her past six years at Hogwarts. Down one hallway, and she remembered the night with the troll, another would take her to memories underneath Harry's invisibility cloak, up a flight of stairs and through two heavy doors, she would find the location of numerous D.A. meetings… She reflected on this castle she'd loved for so many years—a treasure trove of knowledge and memories … it was incredible to think that one location held such happiness and promise for so many people. She'd already had her reverie disturbed once by Ernie Macmillan and stories of his thoroughly heroic summer in which he fought off scores of frogs ("Clearly sent by the Dark Lord or some other of his followers!") who seemed intent on filling up his aunt's pond. But soon enough she had successfully encouraged him to continue on his rounds, and was able to return to her previous train of happy thought.

It was only a few thoughts later that she saw wandlight coming towards her, right in her path. She momentarily wondered whether she ought to turn into the nearest classroom, lest it turn out that Ernie had another adventure to recount for her, starring—who else?—Ernie himself. She was weighing out the pros and cons of hiding (he could, potentially, see her try to escape his grasp and pursue her into her hiding spot), but was distracted from her goal as the light moved left, right, left again and down towards the floor… something was wrong with the way it cut through the darkness; the movement was so fluid that it seemed almost unintentional. Then wandlight and wandbearer met with the floor with a soft thud. Hermione, barely realizing what she was doing, ran towards the individual who was currently lying on the floor. Steadily, she took hold of a shoulder and gently placed her hand under the boy's head, relocating him into a more comfortable position on her lap, as she knelt on the cold stone. She traced a small scrape that extended from jaw to cheek, and quickly recognized the face of Draco Malfoy.

***

Draco couldn't remember what he'd been doing when Sleep took him, but he knew that he was not ready for it. Anything felt better than being awake and alive, but it took concentration to remove oneself from one's body and allow pain to come without losing all sanity. He waited, tense, for the pain to take over mind and body. He could hear the music coming… but it wasn't the music he'd heard every night for six years. This was different … he could feel gentle heat on his face, and the soft notes of a beautiful song he'd never heard felt like a breeze across his skin. It spread across him like bathwater, and then its source came into his view; two large, warm, chocolaty orbs burst into view, their perimeter fringed with streams of gold. Draco's darkness had vanished.

***

When Draco awoke on the first day of class to the face of Madam Pomfrey, he was thoroughly annoyed. The sun was shining on his bed—it seemed an abysmal imitation of his glorious sleep. _This is what morning should feel like,_ he thought to himself. He fully intended to close his eyes and return to his dreams, but Madam Pomfrey insisted that "he needed to attend his classes," that "getting behind on the first day was a terrible way to begin the year," and "as soon as he downed the potion she had for him, he would be free to join his classmates in the Great Hall for breakfast," a near lecture that she was able to spit out with abnormal, and almost indecipherable speed. But apparently some first-year had already managed to break both his legs, a third-year was sporting pig ears after a bad run-in with some poorly labeled "beautifying potion," and before he knew it, Madam Pomfrey was moving about as though he weren't even there.

He drank the potion, took his wand from the side table, and pit-stopped in the boy's room to check his appearance before heading to the Great Hall. Reeling in his success over six years of nightmares, he didn't mind the scrape the stone floor had left on his face. In fact, in all his life, Draco couldn't remember feeling so good.

***

Hermione had, perhaps, a better share of focus and a clearer sense of the future than the average female, but she was by no means unattractive. She was certainly aware of her appearance, but other things always seemed to take priority. This morning, her time was consumed with cleansing herself of Malfoy scum—it was more than a cootie shot could handle. A great deal more. She was far from stooping to _his_ level and considering herself tainted by his touch; but there was something seriously wrong.

She could pinpoint the moment that the icy twitch and tingle began to course through her fingertips, going further up her arm at each second—almost as if some diminutive ice man were running suicides inside her. She slept fitfully, hoping that, in reality, she had merely been exposed to the chill air of the dark corridors for too long, and that a warm blanket would be all the healing necessary. But after her 3 a.m. wakeup, a hot shower, a cold shower, a bath in the prefect tub, every personal cleaning spell she could think of, and a couple of hours of pure frustration, Hermione couldn't shake it. From the exact moment she ceased her direction of Malfoy's levitated body, she could feel the pinpricks in her palm. At first it seemed like her hand had been asleep, but now, many uncomfortable hours later, she knew that that was not the truth. She hesitated to go see Madame Pomfrey—she felt no reserve in sending other students to the hospital wing… but asking for a remedy for a little tickle? _There must have been some sort of residue on his clothes or something_, she thought to herself, _it must be some sort of irritant. Typical Malfoy._

With those cheery thoughts in mind, Hermione looked up at the clock only to realize that she would shortly be late for prefect duties if she didn't start making her way to the Great Hall at that moment. She quickly threw her hair into a bun, took one momentary glance in the mirror—she didn't want to cause any of her friends to worry about her from day one. It was bad enough when she was submerged in school life right before final exams; if she started off the year looking like she had just surfaced from a shipwreck… she didn't even want to consider it.

***

For the majority of the world, a good morning means a day full of hello's, how-are-you's, and wonderful-day-isn't-it's. For Draco, this unexpected surge of energy deserved to be used to its highest potential, and he was looking forward to an incredible day. He couldn't wait to start terrifying the daylights out of the first years, tromping on the egos of second years, tormenting the irritating third years, and thrashing the dreams of the fourth years… The older students knew well enough to stay out of his way, and there was so much entertainment to be had from the rest that it didn't make much difference. Admittedly, there was nothing he'd enjoy more than taking a stab at Potter before he could get his pants on straight… but there was no need to pursue that. The Golden Trio would give him more opportunities to persecute them than he could ever wish for, as soon as classes began.

He walked towards the Great Hall, snapping pleasantly at a few straggling first years. A pack of fourth year girls eyed him with brimming glee. The apparent ringleader, a pretty blonde of average height, who Draco recognized as a Hufflepuff who had been teased to tears by Zambini a couple of years earlier, after making a comment about her attempt at weight loss. Admittedly, there was absolutely nothing wrong with her figure—she was thin, but well-formed. _In fact, if it weren't for the whole fluffy Hufflepuff fairness crap_, Draco thought to himself, _she might be almost dateable_. But then again, he was a Malfoy who was in Slytherin. _Let her try a little harder if she wants anything close to this._ He came close and eyed her musingly. "No bacon for you this morning, hm?" he said, a look of disgust flashing over his features. She seemed to instantly deflate, and dissolve into a flood of tears. As much as Draco would have enjoyed watching the fruits of his labors, he was distracted by another voice.

"Sleep well, Malfoy?"

_Was that a hint of malice?_ he thought, pleasantly. _Go ahead, Granger. Give me a reason to curse you out of your mind_. Instead, he smirked, "Never better." He turned to face her and sniffed, "Then again, that was before your Mudblood stink tainted the air. I imagine that tonight will be of noticeably lesser quality."

The "I'm-going-to-be-the-bigger-person" expression, usually accompanied with a hint of disgust and irritation, that he so enjoyed provoking never came. Instead, he was remunerated with an uncannily good rendering of the I-Know-Something-You-Don't-Know Simper that he had spent years perfecting. And there it was, though somewhat more good natured, with amusement twinkling in the honey brown depths of her eyes as she stared right back at him.

"You might consider talking to Madame Pomfrey," she said, almost trying not to laugh, "I'm sure she could make arrangements to trade out your four-poster bed for one of the hospital wing variety."

_What the heck?_ he wondered. _How did she know?_ But his face only betrayed him for a few moments—just long enough for her to make it down the remaining stairs. His mind searched for a retort…

Hermione fought the urge to laugh in his face as she reached the bottom of the staircase. The discomfort in her body seemed nothing to the enjoyment of taunting Malfoy. She laughed inside herself. He'd seemed so … vulnerable, almost victimized in the night, in fact, she had come very near pitying him in that dark corridor. But it was day now and she could see how utterly stupid that was—Malfoy was completely pathetic. She smirked at the confusion that was bubbling under his cool façade. What came next was unexplainable; her lips seemed to form words against her better nature: "_Weak_," she whispered. The pain surged. She was going to fall; the pain was crippling, and she knew that it would be mere moments before she would be crumpled on the floor like a lost rag doll. _No, not in front of Malfoy…_ she silently urged her body. She couldn't. No. It wasn't fair. She willed herself to focus. The doors were only a few feet away… anything to avoid the hoist of her own petard. Focusing every bit of herself on reaching those doors, she hesitated on her second step.

Draco reached out to grab her—this was not Granger-behavior and, truth be told, it was creeping him out. That, and the fact that he was not about to let her have the last word; he couldn't let his status be put to question by an annoying Mudblood.

She was about to swoon and then … the pain was gone.

_Oh sweet release_.

Hermione trembled, this was wrong. Sick and wrong. It must have been a coincidence—Malfoy had _caused _the pain in the first place; he shouldn't hold the power to stop it. It didn't make sense. She turned into the Great Hall before he could get words out. She sat down next to and across from her three dearest friends in the whole world. Ginny greeted her warmly, and she kindly accepted Ron and Harry's happy though somewhat distorted smiles as they stuffed their faces. This was happiness. Everything that had happened the night before, everything that had happened that morning… it all seemed a blur to her now as she sat in the company of her favorite people.

She scanned the incredible breakfast laid out before her, eventually deciding a particularly perfect looking blueberry muffin. She reached to grab the steaming muffin from its towel lined basket, but as she reached, her fist clenched. The pain seared, and then instantly dulled to a too-familiar tingle. The gesture went unnoticed by Harry and Ron, but Ginny glanced towards Hermione, undoubtedly catching the pain that momentarily crossed Hermione's features. "What?" she asked, nonchalantly, "I almost reconsidered that bear claw … but there isn't anything quite like blueberries to start off the day…" Ginny seemed dubious.

"Tons of antioxidants?" she tried again. Ginny couldn't resist a smile—Hermione had introduced her to Muggle fad-diets over the summer, much to Ginny's disbelief and amusement. She had marveled at the many ways Muggles tried to lose weight; they tried everything: all protein, no carbohydrates, only seafood, fish oils, no sugar, no eggs, all cereal … And each claimed to be the "end-all" diet. Muggles were absolutely ridiculous. The two had gone to check out a health food store, finding numerous chemicals unbeknownst to the general public. Her personal favorite was antioxidants—they popped up everywhere, but not a single item possessed of it actually explained what its benefits were. It was all so stupid!

And thus overcome by a slough of memories, Hermione achieved the goal of occupying Ginny's mind. There would be time for explanation later—like when she actually figured out what was going on for herself.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry. I don't own much of anything, actually. Yay for being poor! :)

Note: Short chapter.... but whatever. I had fun with it :)

Also, I made some minor edits to this chapter on November 21st, 2009. Nothing plot changing, just little things that bugged me. :)

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**Chapter Three**

Draco struggled to explain what had just happened. He had grabbed her, intending to verbally abuse her before she could get away from him, and then the music—the beautiful, peaceful music from the previous night—began to play in his ears, replacing all other sounds. She was warm, but not just where he had grabbed her arm; his whole frame seemed to fill with warmth and light, as though it were pulsing from somewhere inside of her, and then passing on to him. She literally seemed to glow. He was transfixed on her as he watched her turn her head towards him. He had not been prepared for her expression of horror as she jerked free from his grasp, and quickly walked into the Great Hall. The music stopped suddenly, the light and warmth were gone, and Draco was left standing alone, completely and utterly mystified.

***

Hermione struggled to pay attention all morning. She usually enjoyed the first day of classes; there was something wonderful about the advent of a new term, the bright outlook of several months' worth of learning ahead of her. She loved it. Usually. Today was proving very unusual.

Just as she was beginning to focus on the professor, the pain would erupt. Each time it seemed to go further and further up her arm, and each time the severity increased. She simply could not account for what was happening, particularly in light of the scene outside of the Great Hall. Some sort of irritant was completely out of the question; he couldn't have cursed her in his unconsciousness, and beyond that, that morning's incident made that even less of a possibility. In fact, after several hours' wondering, Hermione was beginning to lose hope of ever finding an explanation. All she did know was that after she had touched Malfoy, the pain returned even stronger. Considering the current state of her discomfort, she thought she'd be willing to jump off a bridge if she saw him walking near her. A few moments of relief would never be enough to justify the liquid hurt that swam amidst her blood, through her veins.

That afternoon, she retreated to the deepest recesses of the library with a stack of books. After reading several hundred pages of information and finding not the slightest hint of a solution, Hermione shut her eyes. "What have you done to me Malfoy? What is bloody wrong with you?" she spat under her breath. The pain spiked, instantly forcing tears to her eyes. She shoved the books off of her lap and pulled her knees into her chest. How long was this going to last? Days? Weeks? Months? Years?

Or even, God forbid, forever?

As she sat there, huddled up, she couldn't decide what bothered her most: the pain, the hopelessness she felt, or the fact that she had ever met Draco Malfoy. Her body shook with quiet, choking sobs until she finally fell asleep.

***

Thinking about it was making his head ache. How could he have possibly let that slip? Where had it even come from? It simply didn't make sense! He had been walking into Transfiguration when he'd seen Potty and Weasel coming…

_"And then he was just THERE! Like a bullet! Then it was all over—it was the most brilliant catch I've ever seen. You should have been there, mate! It was incredible!" the red-haired traitors' spawn spewed to his best friend. They both looked up at that moment to face Malfoy, their eyes not even trying to hide the six years of dislike that they harbored for him. _

_"Good afternoon Potter, Weasley…" he had said, without the slightest trace of malevolence. In fact, the corners of his mouth upturned so slightly that it might have been called a smile, were it not so completely uncharacteristic and unfitting of a Malfoy. _

The goodwill that he had experienced so momentarily left him to an entire period of self-berating and repeated attempts to make up for his inexplicable social mistake. It was so strange; he'd never encountered Potter in an attitude other than dislike and mocking, or Weasley without disdain in their six years at Hogwarts, save upon his very first interaction with Potter. But even that had turned nasty within moments, so it might not even count. This was completely beyond him—was he losing his touch?

As if that were not the only thing bothering him, he also had the scene with Granger to think about. Certainly he felt to sudden urge to explain it, but he did have some unanswered questions. His touch hadn't seemed to have any effect on her, besides pissing her off. If she weren't a Mudblood, and a member of the Golden Trio to boot, he might have considered dating her. He momentarily imagined what sort of enjoyment less casual contact might hold …

Dashing that disgusting and disturbing thought from his mind, Draco walked out of the Common Room and towards the library. Professor Slughorn had asked for four sheets of parchment on the properties of Elvish Ivy and the qualities it gave to potions due in two days, and as much as he liked to hope, he doubted any of the other teachers would be less generous in their assignments.

***

Hermione hadn't had a nightmare since she was seven. A naturally bright child, once she had realized they weren't real, they had simply stopped happening. This didn't seem like a nightmare, but it felt like one. Everything was blackness, she was running, but she couldn't see or feel anything; she thought she was screaming, but no sound came out. In fact, besides being convinced that she was both running and screaming, Hermione's sleep was more or less dreamless.

***

Studying was proving difficult. He had been there for hours—it had to be at least two in the morning by that point. And as if that were not enough, it seemed that he was not the only person in the library. Someone nearby was breathing rapidly and heavily, which was becoming extremely distracting. He was tired, but having been used to such restless sleep over the past six years, he doubted he would actually be able to fall asleep after having such a long, peaceful night's sleep. It was like napping during the daytime—trying to sleep afterwards is always difficult, no matter how tired you feel. But the breathing was really starting to grate on his nerves. Someone must have been stressing over something, though how they could be at the very beginning of term, he had no idea. He couldn't decide if he should just move, or tell them to… but given the repulsive niceness he had displayed earlier, he thought he'd at least try to make up for it. He stood up from his chair and began to follow the sounds of the obnoxious breather through the winding aisles of the library.

He was slightly shocked to find Granger, sitting in a chair surrounded by books (that was not the surprising part), curled up and breathing more and more heavily and quickly whilst completely asleep. He couldn't help but notice the tear stains on her cheeks, slightly darkened by the makeup they had gathered as they slid down her face. It was while he was looking at her, unsure of what to do with this sleeping girl, that the thought struck him. The gods must have been smiling upon him… why or how, he didn't know, nor did he care. They were smiling, and that was all that mattered. Comfort without costing him his pride? It was just too good.

He sat down on the small footstool in front of her chair, and reached up towards her. Reaching out a singular, slender, pale finger, he ran it back and forth across the back side of her hand. The feeling was spectacular, warming him throughout, tingling pleasantly all the way down to his toes. He slid his finger up her forearm where she had pulled her long-sleeved shirt up above her wrists; the comfort was relaxing as he brushed his palm over her tear-stained cheek for a few moments before returning to focus on her hand. Her skin was softer than the finest silks his mother had purchased, and each brush across it seemed to stir up a sweet cinnamony-vanilla scent. _If only she weren't a Muggleborn… _ He closed his eyes, purely enjoying the comfort, hardly believing his luck.

Hermione's breathing had returned to normal, but Draco didn't notice. He had fallen asleep, fingers entwined in hers, light and warmth pulsing into him like electricity into an unlit bulb.

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PLEASE Review :) I will love you for forever and a day.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry. That is basically the whole point of this website now, isn't it? I also love that it allows us to join together harmoniously, no matter what "ship" or "team" we root for, in the celebration of something we all truly enjoy, no matter what we wish had happened in the actual novel itself. (If you are wondering if this is a comment pointed at any people who violently [and oh yes, I mean violently] support the team of their choice in a recent series that was ever-so-recently made into a film that may or may not have been released within the past 36 hours of me writing this little notey-thing [it's November 21, 2009, if that helps you] ... well then you would be correct.)

Note: There has been a dramatic change in plot! Not in anything already published, but in future chapters which will allow for much more romance. Also, it will allow me to get to a much lighter mood much faster than the original plan. I am very happy about this, and you should be too. I confess, Angsty Hermione is kind of getting on my nerves. Haha. But yeah. I am way excited about this :)

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**Chapter Four**

Hermione woke with a crick in her neck—chairs were meant for sitting, not for sleeping. Drowsily, she lifted her head up and wondered what time it could possibly be. Judging from the light filtering through the tall, narrow windows at the end of the nearest bookshelves, it was quite early. She'd have more than enough time to return the books to their rightful places, head back up to Gryffindor Tower, and take a nice, long shower before anyone else woke up. She enjoyed feeling like she was the only person alive in those early hours of the day."Why am I here again?" she mumbled, yawning. She glanced at the book balancing on the armrest of her chair,_ The Unique Cases of Therean Boritzar: the Wandering Wonder Mediwizard_. "What a useless bunch of bunk…" she thought aloud, although it brought her mind back to the reason she was in the library in the first place—that awful pain.

… which she didn't seem to be having at that moment.

Realizing this, Hermione's mind started to wake up a little bit more. Why was it gone? Had she imagined it? Was it just a migraine or something like that? She started to look around at the books she needed to put away when she froze, muscles instantly tensed at the sight of the person at her feet, and the way his fingers were fit between hers.

Her voice seemed to have taken a temporary leave of absence. _I've got to get out of here. Now._ She thought. But if the past forty-eight hours had taught her anything, it was that breaking contact was going to lead to hours of throbbing pain, and she was in no hurry to start that. But suppose that the length of contact was directly proportional to the amount of pain that she was going to experience? He could have been there for hours! But if she didn't let go now, she'd be making it worse… She didn't know what to do.

"Mal-Malfoy!" she managed, a sound that was some mix between a shriek and a whisper. The blonde stirred from where his head rested against the front of the armrest. He looked up, and turned to Hermione, shock plastered across his features.

He couldn't believe he had fallen asleep. How could he have been so stupid, so careless? He'd have to lie through his teeth to save face. Not that that was a difficult task…

"What on earth do you mean by this Granger? How dare you… er … _kidnap me!_"

Hermione glared at him. "I didn't kidnap you, you arrogant git! You should be explaining to me why I woke up to find you here with your repulsive hands on me!"

"Don't flatter yourself. As if I would intentionally taint my person with your Mudblood filth!"

"My Mudblood filth certainly didn't cross your mind outside of the Great Hall yesterday," Hermione spat, eyes ablaze. She then realized that they still hadn't broken contact—she wasn't about to let him have the satisfaction of being the one to let go. And so, ripping her hand from his, standing up, and giving him a decent enough shove to land his backside on the floor, Hermione grabbed a handful of books and began to walk away.

Her hair, Draco thought, seemed to have grown even larger and bushier in the few minutes that had just passed, as though her fury were electrifying it like a Vandegraaff generator (much as he detested Muggles and Muggleborns, Muggle Studies seemed an extremely useful class and would no doubt prove useful for his intended future in the Ministry. And besides that, the chapters on electricity were nothing short of fascinating… not that he'd admit to it, of course). He was so busy thinking about her extremely poofy hair that he failed to come up with a fiery retort. Beyond that, he was considering the sleep he'd just woken from. If the previous night had been good, this one had been sheer bliss. It was hard to believe something could feel that good; furthermore, it was difficult to be his usual, nasty self when he was still recovering from such a mind-blowingly wonderful slumber. It was with these peaceful thoughts running through his head that Draco Malfoy heard a distressed cry, and the sound of ten or more books crashing to the ground.

He turned to see Hermione, flat on the ground, completely motionless. Madame Pince appeared almost instantly, gasping as she whipped out her wand and, recognizing the girl's state of unconsciousness, levitated Hermione.

With her usual ability to sniff out suspicious activity in the library, she turned her nose in Draco's direction, but was just a moment too late. He had managed to hide himself behind the chair Hermione had been sitting in—he didn't need or want the suspicion that would be heaped upon him if anyone knew that he had been present when she had collapsed. But with no apparent cause to justify further investigation, and a student in dire need of Madame Pomfrey's care, Madame Pince quickly directed Hermione's limp, floating body out of the library and towards the hospital weekend. Draco waited until she was well out of sight before he slinked down the corridor and back to the dungeons.

***

After taking a wonderfully warm shower, Draco headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. He sat, facing the non-hospitalized remainder of the Golden Trio and watched them eat. They must not have found out about her collapse yet; they looked extremely calm. Unless they had already been to see her, and she was alright? Did it even matter to him? Of course it didn't. He had only been using Granger for enjoyment, and had no further need of her. Life had never been better; in fact, it was so far superior that it seemed almost unfair to make it even more luxuriously wonderful.

Then again, he was a Malfoy. There was no such thing as too luxurious. However, it was also because he was a Malfoy that touching Granger should be kept to a minimum, no matter how enjoyable the effects might be. She was Muggleborn scum, one of the closest cohorts of his own arch nemesis, and simply too far below the Malfoy Standard. He had appearances to keep up.

After finishing his meal in silence, Draco stood up from the table just in time to miss his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle join the Slytherin table. The two seemed to resemble hogs more and more each day—at times, Draco even wondered if they were being slipped small quantities of porky polyjuice potion in every meal. "Not a half bad idea…" he muttered under his breath. At least then they'd have an excuse for how stupid and disgusting they were.

If he hadn't so enjoyed and, admittedly, needed their useful presence in his younger years, he wouldn't have ever started speaking to them in the first place. Sure, they were fellow children of the Dark Lord's closest circle, but that was negated by the fact that the two of them combined had less brains than a single goat. Their girth, however, had scored them enough points to put them in the positive, and so Draco used them shamelessly for his own protective purposes.

But now they, along with Pansy Parkinson and the whole heap of imbeciles that tried to be a part of Draco's inner circle, were completely estranged from him. They simply didn't understand (no surprise there)—Draco Malfoy did not have an inner circle. Draco Malfoy walked alone.

And it was alone that he walked from the Great Hall. It was not but a few seconds after the large, oaken doors had shut behind him that he heard a ruckus on the other side, and they were being pushed open again to allow Scarhead and sidekick to blow past him, nearly knocking him over in the process. The token female spawn of the Weasley family followed just moments later, screaming "Wait a sec! What happened to Hermione???" at the top of her lungs. Draco temporarily regretted the absence of Crabbe and Goyle who would have absorbed the blow and prevented the re-tousling of his previously perfectly tousled hair. This would call for a trip to the bathroom to find a mirror … But that wasn't such a bad deal now, was it? ;)

***

"OH MY GOSH!" Ginny wailed, rushing through the hospital wing doors ahead of Harry and Ron. (What can I say? The girl was _fast_.) She flew to Hermione's bedside, grasping her hand but receiving no response. Madame Pomfrey emerged from her office at the sound of Ginny's voice.

"Please! I will be forced to ask you to leave the hospital wing if you cannot keep your noise to a minimized level!" Madame Pomfrey scolded, the slightest flash of pity crossing her eyes as she looked down at her patient, a change from the usual professional expression she wore.

"What happened to her?" Harry asked.

Madame Pomfrey sighed, "She seems to have passed out in the library. Madame Pince brought her in at around five-thirty this morning."

Ron made a face. "You'd think they were having some sort of love affair … why would either of them be in the library at that time of the morning??"

Ginny shifted in the seat she had taken next to Hermione's bed—she hadn't missed that look of pity, and there was something in the way that Madame Pomfrey spoke that made it seem that passing out was not the entire story. "Why did she pass out?" Ginny asked. "Shouldn't she be better by now?"

The witch sighed, looking down at the motionless girl in the bed. "Professor McGonagall was informed, as Gryffindor Head of House of course, of what had happened. We tried to wake her up, but were unsuccessful…"

"She's still… _alive_, isn't she??" Ron asked, his voice becoming shrill as he choked out the third word.

Madame Pomfrey's lips turned up slightly, into a very sad sort of smile. "Yes, Mr. Weasley. She is alive. But as much as the most complex and difficult diagnostic spells can show me, she's in the most excruciating sort of pain—so great that her body, her mind, simply couldn't, or at least _wouldn't_, handle it."

"Madame Pomfrey," Harry asked, a fresh batch of worry creasing his brow, "She will be fine, er, mentally, won't she? The pain won't make her… well … lose her mind, will it?" He began to think of the fate of Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom, tortured into insanity.

"Nevermind her mind Harry! She will wake up eventually, won't she?" Ginny said, tears forming in her eyes.

"I have great hopes of her returning to consciousness. At the present moment, it seems that her mind is focused so hard on trying to relax her body and relieve the pain that it does not have time to focus on its usual duties. It is possible that this reaction is actually protecting her mind, preventing it from being overworked such that it would have lasting consequences..." She sighed pensively, and then continued. "Once the pain is eradicated, or at least significantly lessened, she should be back on her feet."

"Couldn't you just give her a potion or something to make it stop though?" Ron asked. "That seems like it would solve everything."

"Well," Madame Pomfrey replied, her brow knitting as she tried to find words to explain the situation, "that was my first thought, and the first thing I tried after discovering the reason she was unconscious, but it didn't work. The spells showed the very same presence of pain throughout Ms. Granger's body, despite the most powerful of pain relieving spells…"

"But where did the pain come from?" Harry interjected.

"That, I and Professor McGonagall cannot figure out. We called for the help of Professor Dumbledore as well … though he was not able to make any progress in Ms. Granger's favor, he seemed to have great hope of her returning to normal activity in the future …."

Ginny, Ron and Harry stared at her, wide-eyed and mouths open. Professor Dumbledore hadn't been able to help her? There was no doubt in their minds that something very, very horrific had happened to their dear friend.

* * *

Well hello all you cool people that just read this! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it! Reviews would be greatly appreciated :)

Also, **Scurryfunger**, **McFressie**, and **branwen-s**... THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REVIEWING! I'm glad you've all liked it thus far! You are awesome!! :D


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